If Something's Worth Doing
by avrovulcan
Summary: Illya tests a new weapon. Originally posted for Picfic Tuesday on LJ.


Napoleon found Illya down in the firing range; he was shooting arrows using a strange looking contraption at a target seventy metres away. The arrows were closely gathered around the inner rings.

"Some good shooting there, tovarisch."

"Of course," Illya grinned.

Solo indicated the weapon, "So what exactly is that?"

"Something Research and I have come up with, it is a sling bow, more portable than a standard bow and quite accurate."

"From the placement of those arrows I'd say so."

"I am thinking of entering a Target Archery tournament, I would like to see how it compares to a conventional one."

"Would that be allowed? It's quite unusual."

"I have spoken to the Field Captain of our local Archery club and he has agreed to let me try it out in the outdoor tournament this weekend."

"That should be interesting, mind if I tag along?"

"Not at all, my friend, I would be glad of the company."

"Hmm, especially if you end up causing trouble."

"Me? I would not dream of it Napoleon." Illya smiled slyly.

"You're not a good looser, tovarisch."

"Who says I am not going to win?"

Solo just grinned and shook his head.

The day of the competition arrived and the two agents made their way to Central Park. A section of Sheep's Meadow had been cordoned off for the archers; five targets were set up at a distance of ninety metres.

"Explain to me again what happens in this tournament."

"Were you not listening the first time, Napoleon?" Illya sighed, "the competition is divided into 'Rounds'; in each one, the target is set at a different distance. For the men it starts at ninety metres, then to seventy, fifty and finally thirty. For each 'Round' we shoot three dozen arrows."

"Uh-huh, that's straight forward enough, but there was more to it wasn't there?"

"Da, each Round, is divided into Ends where we fire six arrows in a four minute time limit , then check our scores before collecting them."

"So you have six Ends in each round?"

"Da, I think you understand now, yes?"

"I think so, no doubt I'll understand it better while I watch."

Kuryakin and Solo arrived at the designated area, Illya seeking out the Field Captain to register his arrival. Napoleon looked around at the other participants, each with a number card attached to their backs.

Number one was dark haired and quite tall, a rotund man (number two) approached the first and chatted amicably, they seemed to know each other quite well. The third stood apart from the rest, he was well built, square jawed and worked with a deliberate thoroughness, he would make a perfect THRUSH, Solo thought. Four was reserved for his friend; Illya came over to him, childlike excitement radiating from him.

Solo couldn't help himself, grinning he said, "if you're good, I'll buy you an ice cream when it's all over."

"Only if it follows a main meal – your treat?" The Russian smirked.

"I think I can manage that, just play nicely eh?"

"Do I not always?"

"Depends on who you're playing with."

"Have you had a good look at my competition then?"

"Mmm, I don't quite like the look of number five over there," Napoleon frowned.

They surreptitiously watched the shorter man with close cropped brown hair. He was studying the competitors and trying not to be conspicuous about it, others wouldn't notice, but to the highly trained agents, it was obvious.

"I see what you mean, maybe we should keep an eye on him," Illya responded.

"I will, you concentrate on getting those arrows in the target."

"I could do it with my eyes closed."

"Remind me to ask Waverly about any internal modifications that are being planned for HQ."

Illya shot him a puzzled look, "Why, what has that got to do with this tournament?"

"Because if you win; the doorways and corridors will need to be widened to accommodate your ego."

Illya mumbled something in Russian and the American just managed to catch the tail end of it.

"You should be ashamed, using that kind of language in public."

"I doubt very much the 'public' understood it anyway."

Just then the participants were called to their places, preventing Solo from replying. He clapped his partner on the shoulder and wished him luck.

Illya took his place in front of the fourth target, with square jaw to his left and crew cut on the other side. Both adversaries eyed his sling bow curiously.

"Hey, is that allowed?" A voice came from the Russians right.

"I have cleared it with the Field Captain." Kuryakin calmly replied.

"Shouldn't be allowed, could give an unfair advantage," the questioner mumbled.

Soon a whistle was blown to start of the first part for the ninety metre Round. Four minutes later two blasts of the whistle signalled the finish of the first End and for all archers to lay down their bows and any arrows which hadn't been used.

Illya walked to the target and wrote the results down on his scorecard. Once all contestants had done the same, they removed their arrows and started the next section. When the first stage was completed, he was in second place, the tall dark haired man was in first, his friend Mr. Rotund was in fourth, square jaw fifth and crew cut in third.

The targets were set at seventy metres and the next Round started. The end results had altered slightly, The Russian took first, knocking the previous holder to third, while the man to his left rose from third to second, the remaining two stayed the same.

It was during the third round, trouble broke out, the competitor to the Russians right called fowl, complaining that he believed the bow sling should not be allowed.

"He should be disqualified; it's not a conventional bow and shouldn't be compared to ours, just look at the scores he keeps getting."

"I have not entered this tournament with an advantage due to the kind of bow I use, it is still down to skill to hit the target precisely."

"I don't believe you, you're cheating Red, why don't you just go back home, we don't want you and your commie kind here spying on us," crew cut said trying to take a swing at Illya.

"I do not want to fight you; I have come to take part in a friendly competition."

Seeing the disturbance, and the growing crowd around them, the Field Captain came over.

"Please calm down Mr. Baker, Mr. Kuryakin is a legitimate contestant, I have tried his bow and it does, indeed, take as much skill in using as a standard one."

"So you're on this ruskies side too, are you? How much has he paid you? You're all corrupt," he fumed.

Napoleon stepped in trying to diffuse the situation; he could see Illya was becoming angered by the insults.

"Please gentlemen, this is supposed to be a friendly game, my friend here has done more for America than you'll ever know and I think you owe him an apology."

"Like hell I'm going to apologise to a commie, I see he's suckered you in too, you're a disgrace to our country."

"Mr. Baker, I would be pleased to let you try my sling bow, or I am willing to play an End against you with a conventional one."

"And have that, that **_thing_** probably injure me, no thank you," he spat, "and as for a game against you Red, not on your life, I quit."

Crew cut didn't see the fist that hit him, Napoleon tried to step between the antagonist and his partner.

"Illya, stop. I'm not explaining to our boss why we've been arrested," he turned to Baker, "I suggest you leave."

"No why should I? Tell him to go, he doesn't belong here; anyway, you saw him attack me, I've got witnesses."

"He was provoked, and has witnesses too."

Baker launched himself at Kuryakin and hit him solidly in the face, with more force than many thought possible, the sound of cartilage breaking was unmistakable.

The Field Captain had enough and saw that crew cut was escorted from the area, threatening prosecution if he didn't comply. Napoleon took Illya to first aid, tending his bleeding nose and a rapidly swelling eye.

"I think he's broken your nose and you're going to have one hell of a shiner tomorrow, tovarisch." Solo grinned, "you don't do things by halves do you?"

"I only hit him once, even then, it was not as hard as I would have liked to. I am sorry I lost control Napoleon."

"It's understandable, in fact I thought you were quite reserved, he deserved what he got. That eye's swelling up nicely by the way."

"I know, it is my eye, and as my babushka always used to tell me, '_if anything is worth doing, it is worth doing well'_."

"You've got that right, partner mine."


End file.
